Cooking Up A Storm
by BlackbirdChaos
Summary: Liz finds a new thrill in cooking with Red, when she discovers such a benign and innocent act could be so sensual when it comes to doing it with a man like Reddington. (Red and Liz cooking together with steamy moments incorporated).


**Hey all!**

 **I haven't written a fic in quite some time, but I am a RedxLiz shipper as always. Hope you enjoy this. I'm not entirely sure if I ought to make this more than one chapter. Hope you find some enjoyment in it though and that it isn't completely lame ;)**

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 **Cooking Up A Storm**

Liz woke to the sounds of Reddington up and about, moving around in the small kitchen outside her room.

They had been roaming around to various locations, until they at last settled comfortably in a three bedroom cottage for the past four days. Usually every morning they woke and went out for breakfast, but after Reddington having gotten the idea to start stocking the small bar fridge, things were clearly going to be different this morning.

She sighed contently as she laid back down under the warm sheets, resting her head against the pillow as she listened to him making a big noise out in the kitchen. Then she glanced at the clock on the wall. Already, it was past nine o'clock in the morning. She had slept in.

In her defense, considering where they were, anyone could barely blame her; She turned her eyes towards the open curtains in the room, watching the condensation rolling down the glass. It had been freezing and rainy the past few days at their latest whereabouts, and if she had to be completely honest, it was hard to find any proper motivation.

As for now, she would have preferred nothing more than to stay under the cozy sheets all day. But realizing she couldn't do that; not today, she sat up and swung her legs off the side of the bed, cringing as her bare toes touched the cold floorboards. Bracing herself, she untangled herself from the snug bed-sheet and stood, hopping to her suitcase to grab a fresh pair of socks to put on. She got changed into one of her warm puffer jackets that had a hood and fur trim on it, slipped into a pair of denim jeans, and sat back down on the unmade bed as she pulled her boots on.

All rugged-up and dressed appropriately for Red's company, she pulled the door of the bedroom open, peering out.

Immediately a very pleasant smell seemed to be wafting around the cottage; The aroma of something freshly baked- and burnt. Liz hadn't known Reddington had the ability to cook anything homemade, but when she got closer to the source of all that noise and the smell curiously, she discovered otherwise.

Red could be fairly domesticated when he wanted to be at times, she was learning.

A tray of sizzling hot scones were sitting on a rack to cool, steam wafting off of them into the air. Although the tops of them were dark brown and clearly overcooked, they still both looked - and smelt- delicious. She tried not to appear so bewildered when Red suddenly appeared while rummaging through their recently stocked pantry; a hand towel slung over one shoulder while the light green apron he was wearing was soiled with dustings of what appeared to be flour and smudges of butter.

It was such an odd contrast to how he usually looked; So formally dressed in his three-piece suits and matching fedoras. This morning, he was wearing a simply casual outfit appropriate for safe cooking; A white dress shirt with the sleeves folded up to his elbows and a pair of light blue jeans. Even wearing something so basic and homely, he somehow looked all the more appealing to her.

As he looked up and his eyes met hers, he gave her a quick small smile while sliding the hand towel off his shoulder and wiping his hands, bunching the material up between them. "Good morning, Lizzie."

After staying with him and being constantly on the move since the whole shooting General Attorney Connolly fiasco, Liz had since learned that he was obviously a morning person. Even in the morning, Red was always cheerful and enthusiastic in disposition, whereas she tended to be the complete opposite. At first, it had been simultaneously confronting and irritating. Now, however, she was getting used to it.

"Yeah, morning. How long have you been up for?"

"Over roughly three hours. I woke up with this nagging compulsion to cook something." Shrugging, he pointed over towards the pot near the cupboard that held their mugs inside it. "There's fresh coffee in the pot." Seeming to notice she was shivering from where she stood, even all rugged-up, he beckoned her over with a startling amount of warmth. "Here, Lizzie. Come over here and stand by the oven. It's warmer over here."

She didn't hesitate. She moved over quickly, brushing past him while pulling her hands out from in the pockets of her jacket. She bent down, rubbing them together near the heat radiating from the oven gladly. She couldn't help peering over her shoulder as Red sat various contents on the counter; Flour, milk, butter. There was something strangely fascinating about it all; The idea of Red doing something as ordinary and every-day as cooking.

"I never knew you could cook?"

He met her eyes again with another small smile. "Yes, well. I suppose you could say that I am a man of many talents."

"Oh, sure," she murmured quietly. "And I have no doubts that you are..."

Liz watched as he got busy into pouring a measurement of flour into the bowl he had previously used, his expression fascinatingly absorbed. He seemed almost... peaceful. She could hear him humming a faint tune deeply in the lower part of his throat. She didn't think she had ever seen him look so serene before. Well, certainly not lately.

"I was debating whether to make pancakes or not, Lizzie." He met her eyes again as he picked up a knife, moving around to slice a few meticulously small cubes of butter. "But then, I assumed, after everything, you mightn't like that. You don't like pancakes after Tom, do you?" His mouth twitched as he stared at her knowingly.

A billion ranges of emotion seemed to overcome her at that comment. She felt a wave of sadness hit her at the mention of Tom. Also, a strange feeling of unease that Reddington knew her so well that even he could tell she had now been effectively turned off pancakes over the years. "Yeah, I think its safe to say that I hate pancakes."

"Yes. Now that is exactly as I thought, hence why I opted for scones instead." He made another soft, deep humming noise again. "How are the hands feeling now?"

"Better. Heaps better." She flexed her hands, a tingling warmth infecting them. "It gets freezing here of a morning." Without really knowing why, she moved closer to where he was standing at the counter. "You need my help with anything?" she asked.

"Actually, yes. I do. You can do this for me if you'd like, Lizzie."

Liz felt suddenly nervous as he moved away. She was lost at sea. Making scones hadn't been something she had ordinarily made in the kitchen before. If she had to be completely honest, Tom was more of the cooking type than she had been.

"So what do I need to do?"

"You just need to pour the cubes of butter into the bowl of flour and mix it around for me until it faintly resembles something similar to breadcrumbs," Red explained in a lower octave of voice. It was as if it was so simple to him, the process of mixing the ingredients together. "You'll need to get your hands dirty for this, though... something tells me that you'll enjoy that. Getting your hands dirty on the job." It sounded like a double entendre to her; One she couldn't quite make any sense of.

Frowning while moving towards the sink, she ran the tap until it was moderately warm before plunging her hands under the stream and giving them a good, thorough wash. After she dried them, she followed his directions silently, dropping all the cubes of butter in before getting in knuckle-deep with her hands, squishing the butter into the flour gently. Astonishing herself, Liz actually found it relaxing herself, doing something so basic as cooking. It was hardly boring in the slightest.

She turned her head slightly to notice that Red was watching her out of the corner of her eye. Her hands seemed to tremble. "Am I doing this right or do you want to take over?" she asked, somewhat breathlessly.

"No, you're doing wonderfully, Lizzie. Keep going until the butter is completely mixed in."

She felt herself flush foolishly with pleasure at Red's approval. She tilted her head and stared at him as he grabbed the tray of the scones that were currently cooling off, carrying them over towards the bin.

"What are you doing?" she asked, confused. "You're not actually going to throw them out, are you?" She sounded just as outraged as she felt. Those scones looked perfectly good to eat, if a little burnt.

"I've butchered these ones, Lizzie," Red said, and just as Liz opened her mouth to argue, it was too late. She heard the thunk of the scones hitting the bottom of the bin tellingly. "I turned the oven on too high in temperature. At least we'll know now with this batch that they'll turn out better. But that's usually team work for you, isn't it?"

The flour and butter mixture was starting to stick to her fingers messily. She peered behind her shoulder at Red uncertainly. "How's it looking now?" she asked, admittedly clueless. She couldn't tell whether the mixture needed more flour or whether it was to the consistency he was aiming for.

When Red placed the empty cooling tray back on the counter and moved back over towards where she was, Liz caught herself staring at his mouth when he brushed against her from behind to peer into the ingredients she was currently kneading. His lips were slightly curled as he inspected her work thoughtfully.

"I think a tad more flour," he told her, reaching over to grab the packet of flour and tipping it over, spilling a good amount in. Liz forced her eyes away, back onto the ingredients on the bowl instead. She felt strangely stuffy inside the kitchen now, though she wasn't entirely sure why. Her cheeks felt flushed. "There we go," he said, his voice baritone and filled with approval, "That should well and truly be enough, Lizzie."

Red remained behind her while she turned the mixture over and over with her fingers. She didn't even need to so much as glance behind her to know that he was standing directly behind her. She seemed highly attuned to his presence.

She cleared her throat gently, before asking. "How about now? It's not as sticky as it was." The mixture of the flour and butter no longer was sticking to her fingers and, as inexperienced as she was over making homemade scones from scratch for breakfast, she took that as a good sign. "Does that look right to you?" She looked behind her shoulder again, instantly regretting it.

Again, Red was standing close, peering over her shoulder into the bowl. Why on earth was she feeling so flustered, so affected by his presence more than usual this morning?

"That'll do," he said, and she brought her hands away quickly as he reached down over her, making a well in the middle of the mixture with his hand.

Liz had to admit that there was something peculiarly erotic about it all, about Reddington doing something so mundane as cooking. Mostly, it seemed erotic, the way he used his hands. He just seemed to know precisely what he was doing, he seemed confident and utterly at ease. As with pretty much all the things he attempted to tackle, she had to admit.

"Pour in one cup of milk, Lizzie," he directed her gently, tearing her out of her senseless thoughts.

Giving her head a light shake in order to snap herself out of it and get a good grip on herself, she did as he said, pouring a cup of milk into the well he had created into the bowl. Doing something Liz never expected him to do, he took her wrists in his hands while both arms came around her, guiding them towards the mixture in the bowl while he brushed against her from behind. Her stomach through the material of her puffy jacket dug into the edge of the counter and she felt her stomach muscles clench as she grew aware of the friction of his groin against her rear every which way he moved from closely behind.

Unable to help herself, she turned on an angle to peer at his face questioningly while he made her fingers dip into the flour mixture, now slightly cold from the cup of milk. His expression was unreadable, yet his lips parted and she thought she heard a slight hiss come from him as he inhaled in sharply. She had no idea if he was feeling it also, this strange tension in the air between them, but she prayed she wasn't the only one.

"Now you simply knead it, Lizzie." His voice was soft, rougher somehow; His mouth inches from her ear, chin near the crook of her shoulder. "Think of it as dough. It needs to be the consistency of dough."

She had to clear her throat, her mouth dry. "Okay. I think I've got it."

She closed her eyes tightly and sucked in a deep breath when his arms rubbed on the sides of hers while Red's hands came down from their gentle hold on her wrists, his fingers moving into the bowl of mixture as well. She felt more of his body then, behind her. She suddenly felt surrounded by all that was him, immersed in him. They were kneading the dough, using their fingers together, molding it into the suitable consistency needed for baking.

 _Oh, this definitely put new meaning to the term 'team work' alright,_ Liz thought to herself dryly.

She bit down on the side of her lip as she deliberately forced her eyes open, glad that her hair was not tucked behind her ears and that it was hiding the side of her face from him. And more so, her reaction. Yet inside, she felt oddly hot all over, and she felt it- more so than saw it, as her eyes were resolutely fixed on the bowl and the mixture they were kneading together- when Red's cheek brushed against hers, colliding with the strands of her hair.

"Very good, Lizzie. You seem to be very good with using your hands." Red's mouth moved against her ear, causing her unfortunately to shudder all over. Her name had never sounded more erotic coming from his tongue than it did in that moment, while their fingers moved over each others, slipping and sliding over the contents in the bowl. "I think we're definitely ready for the next part. The dough certainly seems as it needs to be."

She heard the tinge of amusement in his voice and wondered if he was doing this all on purpose. Could he somehow tell how much he was affecting her right now?

She couldn't remember how to breathe when Red bent slightly towards her to press his lips into her cheekbone for the briefest second. Along with the contact his mouth made on her cheek, she couldn't help hearing the deep and content moaning noise that escaped him, and her pulse seemed to quicken. It was chaste and barely lasted more than two seconds, yet it effected her just as profoundly as a passionate kiss from him may have. Her mind drifted off, conjuring up images of what noises he would make in bed with her, how his lips would feel on various other body parts of her. With firm control, she closed the door on those thoughts immediately.

"Uh, great," she brought herself to speak, her voice sounding strange to her ears. Huskier, breathless, as if he had just knocked the wind out of her- which, in reality, she felt as though he had. "Yeah, it... it feels done to me. It definitely feels soft enough. Then again, what would I know? I've never made scones from scratch before."

He gave out a whisper of that grating, infectious laugh of his, irritating her yet flustering her even more at the same time.

When Red leaned back slowly and moved away from her, drawing his hands out from the dough they had kneaded and created together into a smooth texture, Liz felt a instant feeling of loss overcome her, as if something had been immediately taken away from her. She found herself incapable of moving for a moment, while Red started sprinkling some flour lightly on the counter top.

Taking immediate charge, she pushed herself back out of the way while Red scooped the dough out of the bowl, starting to roll and flatten it out. And, just like before, she was entranced, enjoying the way he seemed to know precisely what he was doing; The way he moved with decisiveness and precision. Most especially, she enjoyed the way his forearms flexed, the way his head tilted to the side, his lips pursed serenely. It ashamed her more than anything, her feelings, over them participating in an act so benign as cooking together.

Yet, with Reddington, to Liz it had felt like the most innocently sensual act on the planet.

 **Hope you enjoyed this? I might do another chapter where they are cooking something else and it gets even more heated. Suggestions are welcome ;)**


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